


the future takes care of itself

by alternatedoom



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse)
Genre: Anal Sex, Cable's A Bit Of A Dick Because Movieverse Cable Was Really A Bit Of A Dick, Explicit Language, First Time, Light Angst, Loss, M/M, Not Beta Read, Panic Attacks, Spanking, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-13 20:25:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14755736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alternatedoom/pseuds/alternatedoom
Summary: Cable's not feeling ready.





	the future takes care of itself

**Author's Note:**

> I had some conflicting feels about _Deadpool 2_ but I mostly gleefully loved it, and at the end of the day, this is still the ship I will go down with. That said, these two vibe differently to me now, and this is meant to be RyRey's bold and confident Wade and full-on Brolin Cable, meaner and rougher around the edges with a filthy mouth. Viva la movieverse!

Cable is not a man given over to regrets, but inexorably, as if by some slow magnetism, his eyes are drawn back across the room to Hope's teddy bear. He should probably stop eating alone in his room. Solitude allows too much time for reflection, for internal drift. Better to be in the company of the others with their childish prattle and their trivial preoccupations. He has three housemates from which to choose, plus a myriad of friends of friends and random visitors and comers. Wade needed a place to stay, having recently blown up his apartment, Russell was out of the Icebox and not going back to the orphanage, and Cable simply had nowhere to go, so the three of them ended up lodging in Domino's house, a residence on the outskirts of the city limits that she won when she went bowling for the first time.

With the loss so fresh and weighing on him, Cable often wants to be alone. But being alone, he is finding, can lead down mental paths that are difficult to control. Attachment is a fucking dangerous drug.

Aliya and Hope are never far from his mind. He's coping. He's a survivor, he copes. But sometimes, these past sixteen days, when he casts himself down onto his too-soft bed to sleep, and when he's newly woken up, and when he loses himself in minor reverie during the day, his thoughts wander to the consequences of his irreversible choice. To his loss.

He will never see them again.

Aliya can manage alone, she's proven that time and time again, but she shouldn't have to. He's _forsaken his wife and daughter._

At moments like this, the realization of what he's done still leaves him reeling. He's forever abandoned the people who matter most to him, and for what? For the last and greatest mission of his life, doomed to fail. It's a far bigger challenge than one man can handle alone, and Cable knows he can't change what's in store for Earth. Though he'll try as hard as he ever has at his work.

_Do your duty, soldier._

As he sits at the little table in his room not eating the lunch he assembled, the feeling takes him again, the disorienting sense of loss rocking him to his core. He can never go home. He's too goddamn old and well-traveled to be homesick, but--he's homesick. His thoughts circle on an endless, stricken repeat: he chose the doomed mission, chose to save a loony, rambling mercenary with a good heart and strand himself in fucking 2018 in the process.

Will Aliya find someone else? Cable wants her to and he doesn't. Will Hope call another man father? He wants to know, and he doesn't.

Cable's hands--so steady on a weapon--his hands are suddenly vibrating with a small but insistent tremor, and he grips his upper thighs to stop the movement. He made the decision to stay so dispassionately, but now his stomach lurches like he's launching into orbit in a ship, and his heart starts to race. He knows the symptoms of a panic attack, but being able to calmly list each in his mind doesn't stop the wave of renewed tension that crests in his solar plexus, nor the sweat that breaks out on his back. What has he _done_?

He's not expecting it when strong, flexible fingers clamp onto both his shoulders from behind. "Motherfucker," Cable swears, jerking in his chair, but it's his own fault for letting his own stupid mind whisk him away. And Deadpool does move quietly.

"I've been thinking again about making our media match," Wade says, his fingers creeping ever so slightly beneath the collar of Cable's loose shirt. "And then taking it a step beyond. Pushing the proverbial envelope. Whoa, you're sweaty. Do you like backrubs?"

Wade's raised the topic of backrubs before, but this is the first time he's managed to sneak up on Cable and begin to administer one. Cable's heart continues to pound, but now from subsiding adrenaline. His irritation as well as the feeling of Wade tracing bare fingertips along the ropes of techno-organic virus in his neck draws him out of his own thoughts, which is as welcome as the familiar sensation. Cable sits immobile for it, still breathing hard from being startled but not yet shifting away. Within a few moments Wade segues into a deeper, kneading massage.

"Everyone likes backrubs," Wade says, as if he's assuring himself as much as Cable. "You know," Wade continues, "when I died for a minute there in the yard of the orphanage, I told Vanessa not to fuck Elvis, and she told me not to fuck Colossus. She didn't say anything about you, though. Is that a sign or what?"

Cable twists his head around. Deadpool's weird flirting ramps up seemingly every day. At this point it's basically come-ons as bald as Wade's cancer-ridden scalp. Eleven days prior _someone_ slipped a bottle of sexual lubricant into a pouch on his utility bag, and just two days ago a skimpy, black and blue striped banana hammock swimsuit embroidered with an 'X' mysteriously appeared in Cable's closet. Cable would lay good odds on Wade turning up naked in his bed within another week, or jumping out of a cake to literally throw himself at Cable, or escalating to something similarly brazen and outlandish.

When their eyes meet, Wade raises the places where eyebrows would be, if he had any.

"You didn't die," Cable says guardedly.

"Yeah, sure, Safety-Not-Guaranteed. I know I did."

"You did not."

"Yes I did," Wade insists.

Puzzled, Cable frowns. "You can't possibly remember--"

"Yes, I do." Wade leans down and loudly smacks his lips near Cable's ear, and his fingertips dig in deeper. "I died, you just liked me too much to let it stick. Plus _X-Force_ is gonna get a sequel and of course I--"

"Wade, this isn't a good time," Cable grits out through his teeth, but his head dips a few revealing millimeters, the involuntary relaxation belying his words.

Wade's hands come to a stop on his shoulders. "Oh, I can come back later. Say in five minutes? Because that all-vegetable sandwich you haven't touched is just so delicious?"

"No," Cable says, straightening his posture. "Stay," he adds, and doesn't know why he's saying it. Maybe because Wade sounds like he might be genuinely concerned. _Denial, denial, denial._ But maybe this is inevitable, because he's quickly grown fond of Wade. And over the past two weeks Wade's made it crystal clear he'd like to fuck, and right now Cable badly wants a distraction.

"Okay," Wade says, warm and breathy, and then eager hands are pressing back into Cable's neck, drawing small circles.

He can tell himself he was going to give in to this eventually. And it's the truth, isn't it? Even if he feels like they should wait. Cable strives not to know too much about his own future, but he already knows more than he should, and he knows where this thing between him and Wade is heading.

"My sandwich is a lot better than your godawful toaster tarts." Cable comes to a decision and shoves back his chair, forcing Wade to scoot a step away or be knocked down. Wade moves quickly and easily out of the way, light on his feet like he anticipated the need to dodge. Rising and turning, Cable advances on Wade, who looks curious and slightly surprised right up until Cable gets up in his personal space and slides the T.O. arm around his waist. With his natural hand he tilts Wade's chin down, watching as Wade's expression turns pleased.

"They are Pillsbury Toaster Strudels, get it right," Wade says with an ominously prim quirk of his not-eyebrows, and the correction is spoken reprovingly, but his eyes are dancing and everything about his ugly face looks delighted. His personality continues to remind Cable of Aliya in some ways, but Wade's his own person, his own brand of odd. Physically there's barely a single similarity between Wade and Aliya--they're both slim, but the shared qualities end there; looks-wise he could hardly have found anyone more different. Aliya was classically beautiful, Wade is... not, though his physique is conventionally well-proportioned.

For the first time Cable cups a hand against Wade's cheek. Most times he's touched Wade before have been with the intent of killing or at least hurting him. Thoughtfully he caresses the strangely hairless, mottled, hyper-pigmented skin, and Wade melts into his touch.

Close up, their height difference is more noticeable, but Cable doesn't give a shit about being shorter any more than he has an opinion about Wade's fucked-up cancer face. It is what it is. The older Cable gets, the more he realizes none of this bullshit actually matters. 

On previous occasions, when they clashed fighting with each other in the mutant prison complex and again on the transport convoy, Wade moved with a force to match his own, but Wade's body is pliable now, his arms almost clingy around Cable's neck, his fingers fluttering, teasing at the clammy skin in back.

"You're not about to stick your knife in my dick again, are you?"

"No," Cable says, and he rips the buttons of Wade's stupid technicolor cat shirt down the front, yanking it down and throwing it on the floor before he bullies Wade backwards against the wall. Wade audibly loses his breath when his back hits drywall. Then he laughs.

"Oh, excellent," Wade trills with approval ringing in his voice (Cable's not sure whether it's at the forcible shirt removal, the position change or the promise of no knives in his dick) and Wade suddenly jumps both feet off the floor and clamps trim, strong thighs around Cable's waist. Cable instinctively catches him under the knees, then slides his hands slowly back to the rounded globes of Wade's ass. Cable holds Wade pinned with his weight, and then they're kissing pressed against the wall and it's good. It's different. It's distracting.

Wade unfastens the button and zipper fly of his pants, adjusting himself before his hands find their way into Cable's pants (civilian trousers, because while they're far more durable than any of this garbage twenty-first century slave-labor clothing, synthetic Askani fibers don't last forever, and so Cable's saving the wear and tear on his bodysuit for actual fights in the days to come). Wade squeezes hard at his cock, making him gasp, and Cable breaks Wade's hold by leaning back enough to draw his shirt up over his head, putting their stability in jeopardy. Once off, Cable discards it on the floor beside Wade's.

Wade's hands land on his chest after the layer of cloth passes between them. "Ah, this freaky Terminator shit," Wade says, as affectionately as if the T.O. is familiar to him, though he can't possibly have seen anything like it before. Wade passes a hand over the left side of Cable's chest, his fingernails playfully swirling over the curving metal cords of the virus, scratching lightly with tiny little scrapes. His fingers skate up along Cable's jawline, rubbing as though he likes the stubble there. He inhales near Cable's neck as though he craves the scent of soap.

Cable kicks off his unlaced boots one by one, no easy task of balance and coordination while keeping Wade up against the wall, and once he's barefoot he whirls the two of them around and drops them backwards onto the unmade bed, Wade first.

Cable makes no effort to soften the impact, and Wade grunts as he takes Cable's greater weight, but he's beaming.

Cable pulls up a little and eyes him. "This is what you want?"

"Oh yeah, this is nice. I mean, overall I had loftier hopes for this continuity, but this works."

The non sequiturs bring the ethical dubiousness of sex with a mentally unstable person to the forefront of Cable's mind, but Wade is sufficiently enthusiastic that Cable decides consent can be safely assumed. Besides, he already knows he's gone here; he does this and so much more. It's over and done, and it begins now.

"Can I touch your bionic eye? I just want to give it a tap right in the yellow light."

God help him. "No."

Wade rolls his hips and wriggles and shimmies out of his pants and boxer shorts in record time, all while pressed into the mattress. Maximum effort, indeed. Cable looks him up and down, observing the sight of Wade fully naked without comment or outward reaction, staying stone-faced. Cable briefly rolls off Wade to strip off his own pants, because while he's in good shape, he's not that absurdly limber, and he's not a show-off like Wade so clearly is.

Wade rises on one elbow and rests his chin on his propped hand. "No underwear in the future, huh?"

"Nah."

"Unnecessary, short, dramatic capes, but no underwear."

Cable rolls back on top of him. "Just be happy I took it off for you." The comfort of knowing Aliya and Hope are safe and alive is cold, so much colder than he thought the knowledge would be, but Wade's body feels deliciously hot and vital under his. 

"You're the one who's gonna be happy, you lucky bastard." Incongruous with his appearance, Wade acts next-level confident, spreading his legs with the flexibility of an acrobat, pursing his lips and nodding seductively, saucy as a twenty-first century stripper. Normally Cable's in no rush in bed, given the time to spend. Lovemaking with Aliya usually started off, anyway, as slow and sweet, precious time taken luxuriating in each other. But he doesn't have those tender feelings for Wade

_though he will, he already knows he will_

and Wade talks like he just wants to screw and be buddies. At least that's the impression Cable's gotten. With all his jokes and ridiculousness, Wade is hard to read. Wade behaves as though he's out to get in Cable's synthetic pants, not so much like he wants a monogamous long-term relationship like the one his girlfriend just died in. But whether Wade wants it or not, that's what he's getting. Unless they're fucking it up right now. But if Cable's learned one thing from time travel, it's that if you don't need to fuck about with the future, and you don't fuck about with the future, the future will generally take care of itself. 

And if by chance he doesn't end up going long-term with this mouthy idiot, it won't exactly be the end of the world.

Cable reaches over for his utility bag lying on the nightstand, unzips a pouch and pulls out the small bottle of lube. Liquid Silk, by Bodywise. Propylene glycol, isopropyl palmitate, dimethicone. It's fine.

Wade claps a little round of excited applause. "Please tell me you're going to use the metal hand in my naughty place."

"Since you asked so nice," Cable answers, leering, because it seems entirely appropriate.

He sits up on his knees between Wade's legs to lean in and handle Wade's fully hard and leaking cock, then fondles his sack in a perfunctory way before moving on to fingering his asshole. For Cable it's been a while--a good fifteen years at least since he last fucked a man, or anyone other than Aliya, for that matter, and again he feels pangs for his act of abandonment. But only pangs, no rising wave. Cable drips some lube on his fingers and does the math while he carefully eases one, then two T.O. fingers into Wade. Eighteen years. The time goes fast. And he and Wade are taking this way too fast.

"Mmmm, you're so gentle, I like that," Wade says, syrupy and faux-romantic enough to make Cable go harder and rougher. "Ow, whoa!"

Cable relents, slowing down his fingers again.

"Ohhh," Wade moans. "I've changed my mind. Maybe they shouldn't get rid of Winter Soldier arms. That can be a thing well into the future, so that all might benefit--I bet Cap loves this--"

Cable growls at him, withdrawing his fingers and moving, pausing only to drizzle more of the slippery liquid on his cock. Cable's gotten better at cutting Wade off mid-sentence. There's an art to it, or a science, a firmness to the timbre that's needed, a particular pissed-off volume, or he can simply growl. Cable likes Wade's voice, likes to hear Wade talk, but he also wants Wade to shut up once in a goddamn while. "I'm going to fuck you now."

"Oh yeah, look at that," Wade exclaims, grabbing once again at Cable's dick. "And it's actually hard! It's so heartening when an old fart can still get it up. Gives hope for the masses, you know?"

"An especially bang-up feat given your face," Cable says. He's not quick-witted as Aliya nor as quick-tongued as Wade, but in this case the fruit is so low-hanging it's almost touching the ground.

"Touché," Wade says, cheerfully untroubled.

He has Wade flat on his back, Wade's legs spread wide and invitingly to either side, and it's time to either call this the hell off or go for it. Part of his mind protests in a last minute plea: he's too goddamn old and been contentedly married too goddamn long to leap into no-strings yet emotionally complicated sex, but it's too late to back out, and Cable brushes that inner voice off for the other part of him, the part that simply _wants_. Physically, he's past ready to go without even much preliminary touch. Cable squeezes the head of his cock in his palm, stroking himself a couple more times, then grabs Wade again.

Wade seems to enjoy having his hips held, and he shows no impulse to move from the position Cable's tossed him down in. Precision-oriented killer's fingers skim lightly over Cable's chest, shoulders and abdomen, every spot Wade can reach. Likes being dominated, Cable thinks dimly as he places his cock and presses forward. He penetrates Wade far less slowly and delicately than he would anyone else anally in any timeline. He drives down, pushes inside, no pauses for readiness, no kissing. Since Wade can't really be injured beyond the discomfort of a moment, Cable bypasses patience and rides rough. There'll be time enough for tenderness later. If Wade refuses to have any damn patience, he's getting sex that's nothing more than casual, no feelings involved.

"Oh, fuck yeah," Wade groans. Despite the enthusiastic words, he sounds like he's in pain. "I knew we should do this. We should always do this."

The heat and the gripping tightness that encases his cock is nearly mind-blowing. Cable moves his hips purely on instinct, just doing what feels good, like a teenager getting inside someone for the first time, and Wade's hips lift and swivel with athletic vigor to meet his own. Before Cable knows it his breath has turned ragged.

"Let me get on top," Wade urges, adding unnecessarily, "I'm gonna ride you like a half-drunk chick on a mechanical bull."

Cable chokes on a swallow and coughs, and he never gets the chance to answer. Wade rolls them over, showcasing his lean strength, and smashes his pelvis down, enveloping Cable's most sensitive part all over again. Arching his back, Wade begins bouncing on Cable's cock. The sensation is breathtaking as before and the view is ... something. Interesting, maybe, and again, different. Wade's face and skin are not exactly pleasant to look upon, but his body is long and taut, his cock well-formed, uncut and hard, bobbing with his movements. And at his age, with his M.I.A. eye and his scars and the T.O., Cable knows he's no one's Greek statuary either.

_Except Aliya's._

Wade's gyrations are intense, and after a minute or two, it's obvious Wade is trying to take him past the point of no return with his rhythmic squeeze-and-grind routine. And Wade's efforts are rapidly working. Cable didn't plan to care if the sex was over and done with promptly, a quick and selfish lay like he hasn't had in nearly twenty years, but now he finds he wants to draw the experience out longer. Cable grits his teeth and sinks his fingers into Wade's hips, forcing Wade still and using every ounce of will to hold himself back from orgasm. For a second he teeters on the knife's edge. When the most tantalizing moments have passed, he relaxes his pelvic floor muscles, pushes Wade up and off him and pulls out.

"Enough," Cable says in more of a snarl than he intends. "My turn." Using his hold on Wade's hips, Cable flips him over and dumps him face-first into the sheets.

Wade obligingly rises on all fours, looking back with a coy expression, and Cable lines up behind him, then pushes back inside. Wade's backside is damp with sweat against Cable's hips and thighs, with perspiration on his back too, and Cable trails T.O. fingertips through the beads of moisture.

Wade wiggles his ass to the extent he can with Cable's cock speared inside him. "Spank me, daddy?"

"Call me that again and I'll spank you in the face," Cable threatens, but with his flesh-and-bone hand he lays a medium-hard slap across Wade's ass, then a second hit.

Wade hisses at the first impact and makes a pleased sound at the second. "Ohh. Still a sensitive subject, huh? I can respect that." Wade lets a beat pass. "Now that you bring it up, I feel weird doing this in front of the bear considering it's a symbol for your kid and by extension, Shelly from _Cedar Cove_."

The next thing Cable puts his hand to is his own eyes. "Can you not?"

"Sorry, I can see how that whole can of worms might be distracting."

"I'm gonna fucking wreck this ass if you'll just talk about some other goddamn thing for five minutes." Cable punctuates his words with another hard smack to Wade's ass, on the opposite buttock this time, as he thrusts in. Wade yelps. The estimate is a realistic one; he's not likely to last much longer than five at this point. If that.

Wade finds his voice. "Promises, promises, grandpa."

"Jesus," Cable swears.

Wade lowers his head down to the mattress, then reaches up between his legs and begins tugging on his own cock. "We should have done this in my room. I would have put on some dubstep."

Cable sighs, but he takes a deep and patient breath and resumes thrusting in and out, going harder now. "I am not fucking to dubstep."

Cable leans a little forward, balancing himself as he slips his T.O. hand down to close around Wade's dick. Wade lets his own hand drop back to the bed with an appreciative moan, and maybe he's discovered Wade's 'off' switch. He holds Wade's foreskin loosely, gently manipulating Wade's cock within.

As they fuck, with the aid of microsecond readings and biometric measurements from his cybernetic eye, Cable shrewdly assesses the rise of Wade's body temperature, the increase in his blood pressure, the pulsing inside his balls, the decimal millimeters of swelling in his disfigured cock as he rocks forward into Cable's fist and back onto Cable's cock, getting faster and closer. Cable's strokes become quicker, and he tightens his fingers.

Wade's loud in bed, and his escalating moaning makes holding back feel almost unbearable. Nevermind that everyone in the fucking house will have heard them. Cable paces himself with the stamina of age and sheer bodily discipline. Concentrating on the shifting, ascending numbers helps mitigate his need too, and in the end, he successfully times his orgasm to match Wade's, or near enough as makes no difference. Wade screams when he comes over Cable's hand and the bed beneath them, and Cable pumps deeply into him then, fucking fast and hard before, at last, he shoves in one final time, going balls-deep and digging his fingers into Wade's hips as he finally lets himself finish. Wade's hips surge back in answer with perfect tightness. For a few precious moments the world recedes, Cable's mind blanks out, and all he feels is good.

His orgasm is a strong one. The high of orgasm and the sweeping pleasure of ejaculation always temporarily blot out the pain of the T.O. wrestling to take over more of his body, and the neutral recovery state is blissful even if the duration of the endorphins is all too fleeting. Cable jerks off a lot to achieve those brief reprieves from pain. But this time the experience leaves him relaxed and peaceful a little longer, an unusually extended break. He feels groggy as he comes back to himself, almost like his brain's been rebooted.

Wade steals the topsheet from the side of the bed and wraps the fabric around his waist afterward, hogging it.

"That was better than I expected considering your huge uncut... number of birthdays. We came at almost the same time," Wade says, as though he's impressed. "Is that just a surprising amount of experience, or...?"

Cable has no particular comeback for this latest age-related dig, nor does he feel compelled to make one. He could tell Wade the near-simultaneous orgasms were engineered with close monitoring of Wade's bio-signature feedback, but why bother explaining when his thoughts feel blurred and fuzzy? Eventually Wade will either figure it out or accuse him of cheating at sex. He lies naked next to Wade still feeling a bit stunned, a bit shell-shocked. He knew this was almost certainly going to happen. He didn't realize how soon, and he definitely didn't anticipate how good it would be.

Out of it, and contemplative, he's still deciding how to answer when Wade chuckles. "You should see your face right now."

Cable glances at him, raises an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I've seen that look before." Wade says smugly. Wade puts his hands behind his head, looking self-satisfied. "Tell me that wasn't the best you've ever had."

"It wasn't," Cable says.

"Liar."

"It wasn't! You talk too much."

"Please, since the Special Forces, my ass is where men go to die happy."

Cable snorts. "Your ass is--what does that even mean?"

Wade's expression suggests he ought to be familiar, or should be able to guess. "You know. Honeypot missions."

The thought gives Cable pause. "I can't say I do."

"The point is, you loved every second of hitting this and you can't wait to do it again. Don't deny it."

Cable feels himself making a face as he gropes for a retort. Yes, the sex was this side of great, but he isn't about to admit as much. "Kinda cocky, aren't you, gorgeous?" He laces the last word with the lightest breath of mockery. _Handsome._

Wade's eyes narrow. "Keep calling me pretty and I'm going to start to think you mean it."

"Think whatever you want," Cable says evenly.

For no reason Cable can tell, Wade appears to relax at that. "What I was starting to think was that this you was super dense. Oblivious to my most obviously suggestive overtures. I mean, the lube in your fanny pack alone--"

Cable reaches over, grabs the twisted bedsheet and uses it to jerk Wade's hips to his own. "Seriously, shut the fuck up," Cable deadpans, and he kisses Wade to make it happen.

**Author's Note:**

> (I just want to warn for _Deadpool 2_ spoilers in the comments.)


End file.
